


Lyrium Burn

by Felixbug



Series: Breaking the Silence [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Lyrium, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He unlocked the door standing beside a human – too thin, too tired, hair streaked with the dust of Darktown and fingers stained with elfroot – but it was something else, something more, that pushed him against it the moment they were inside, Fade-tinged kisses burning his lips and glowing fingers interlacing with his own.</i>
</p><p>Hawke, Anders and Justice settle into their unconventional relationship. More or less PWP, reading the rest of the series isn't essential.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're skipping the rest of the series, all you really need to know is that Hawke is in an established relationship with both Justice and Anders, but communication between Anders and Justice is still less than ideal. This one stands alone pretty well, but is better as part of the series. 
> 
> The Anders/Justice tag is possibly a little premature - this fic covers them up to the point of _wanting_ and of course, sharing Hawke, but won't progress beyond that until the next installment.
> 
> This fic contains depictions of consensual kink, and mild references to addiction.

Three days and three nights, Anders had spent at the clinic. Three very long, very _hard_ nights. Hawke snorted quietly at his own silent joke, ignoring the curious quirk of Anders’ eyebrow. They could talk later. Probably with more clothes on, because _fucking Maker_ how was he supposed to think with Anders like this?

Anders was sprawled across Hawke’s bed in a beam of bright sunlight, his freckled skin in beautiful, pale contrast with the red sheets twisted under him. His hair was loose, fanned out around his head and practically glowing. He was beautiful – there were shadows under his eyes, yes, and he’d lost a little weight again, but he was perfect like this – safe and happy and all Hawke’s. He rolled onto his side with a sigh.

“Are you just going to stare all day?”

“Maybe.” And it was tempting, although not from this distance – only a few feet but it was a few feet too many. Hawke closed the gap between them, descended onto the bed and rolled Anders onto his back again. Anders’ smug grin turned into a gasp as Hawke balled his fists in that mass of silky hair and straddled him, thick thighs easily pinning the slender mage in place.

It didn’t take much to get Anders flushed and panting, transformed by Hawke’s touch and a series of light, teasing kisses up his throat. A few years starved of contact couldn’t be cured by a few weeks’ indulgence; he was still always right on the edge of desperate. Hawke smirked as Anders twisted in his grip, hips jerking up to grind the solid length of his cock against Hawke’s own.

Hawke considered pulling away – he’d love to make Anders beg, writhing and bucking under him chasing any friction at all. But he needed this too – he couldn’t tear his gaze from the taut planes of Anders’ torso, his gently parted lips, the delicate pink of his cheeks that had crept to his neck and chest. He flattened his body against him and kissed his way along Anders’ jawline, savouring the warm, slightly medicinal smell of elfroot that clung to him, and the gentle rasp of Anders’ stubble against his lips and chin. Anders’ gasp turned into a quiet moan – he’d got his voice back and Hawke was determined to make sure he kept it – and Hawke sucked firmly on the soft skin between his jaw and ear. Anders arched, and Hawke met him with an agonisingly slow rock of his hips.

 _There_ it was, that broken, needy cry he’d been chasing. Anders’ cock burned against his, sharp, quick thrusts that left them both shaking. He reluctantly dropped one hand from Anders’ hair – the other stayed firmly in place with his weight balanced on one elbow. Even when they were gentle with each other nothing made Anders come harder than that beautifully tight pressure on his scalp. Hawke slid his hand between their bodies and curled it around Anders’ cock.

“Bloody _fuck_ Garrett…”Anders broke off, biting down on his lip and throwing his head back. Hawke let him move, groaning at the sight of Anders’ long, elegant neck stretched out beneath him. He tightened his grip in his hair, locking Anders in place, and set a slow, steady pace stroking his cock. Anders keened and thrust up into his grip. His body was tense, thighs shuddering where they pressed against Hawke’s, abs clenched and eyes screwed shut.

“Look at me,” Hawke said, running his thumb over the damp, slick head of Anders’ cock. Anders opened his eyes with a shuddering gasp.

“However much you tease – oh – fuck, yes – this isn’t, I won’t last, shit, Garrett…” his voice broke, almost a wail as Hawke closed his hand firmly around him again and began to really work his cock, rough strokes that left him gasping.

“You don’t have to _last._ If you think I’m going to be done with you after just once –“ Hawke leaned down to bite and suck at Anders’ shoulder. He barely had room to move his hand like this, his arm trapped tightly between their bodies, but Anders was too far gone for it to matter and he thrust hard into Hawke’s fist, hips jerking and faltering as pleasure overwhelmed him.

“We’ve got three days’ lost time to make up for,” Hawke growled against his ear. “You’re going to come until you can’t take any more – until you can’t remember your own _name._ I don’t – fuck, Anders – I don’t ever want to stop touching you.”

Anders’ full body stiffened in his grip, thrusting once, twice more with a strangled cry. He gasped for breath and Hawke pulled back to watch him – his beautiful hands twisted in the sheets, bruised, bitten lips parted, chest heaving and cock pulsing against Hawke’s palm.

Hawke’s pulse was racing as he watched Anders come down from his peak. He was intoxicating – swollen lips, tangled hair and heaving chest. And – _oh Maker_ – he was still hard.

Hawke shifted his knees, positioning himself between Anders’ legs to finally let him move. Anders propped himself up on his elbows – his breathing was still rough and heavy, and sharpened to a sudden gasp as Hawke smirked wickedly and began to slowly lick his fingers clean.

“Enjoying the show?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” Anders said with a breathless huff of laughter. “You know _exactly_ how good you look.”

“Mmm, yes, but I didn’t just mean you.” He indulged himself with one last, deliberate lick of his fingers and then let his hand fall between Anders’ legs, tracing teasing patterns across his thighs until he squirmed. “He’s watching, isn’t he?”

“Did I glow?”

“No – not that I noticed.”

“Then how did you…”

“I can _taste_ him.”

It still clung to his tongue – beneath the familiar taste that was all Anders was a foreign bitterness. His mouth tingled, almost stung, and there was a metallic taste that was almost a feeling. It dragged across his skin like fingernails from the inside. It was unmistakably Justice – he’d discovered it that first night and chased it ever since. It hung in his kisses, drifted from his skin like sweat but this – this was where it _burned_.

“That’s – wow – you know, I’m still waiting for you to decide this is all too strange and tell us both to leave.” Anders shook his head. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Good – maybe you can stop biting my head off any time I say the word thr…”

“We’re _not_ there yet.”

Hawke pressed a kiss to Anders’ inner thigh, chuckling against his warm skin before surprising him with a firm nip. Anders groaned and his hips jerked briefly. Hawke leaned over to grab the oil from the table and almost slipped, scrabbling precariously at the edge of the bed before wrapping one arm around Anders’ thigh and almost pulling both of them to the floor. They were both panting and laughing breathlessly at the edge of the bed by the time he regained his balance, Anders’ body pinned beneath him.

He managed to summon enough self-control to tease Anders for a moment, slicked fingers exploring, touching, but always stopping short of slipping inside. Anders pushed down against Hawke’s fingers with a groan and Hawke relented – and the feeling of sliding into impossibly tight heat was enough to shatter any desire to draw this out. He braced himself over Anders, biting his lip at the sight of Anders’ body rocking against the gentle but insistent thrusts of his fingers. A change of angle, a sharp, sudden curl of his fingers and Anders was shaking, broken gasps turning to a half stifled groan against his bitten lip. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, but Hawke was sure he saw a brief flash of blue gleaming between his lashes.

“If this was a th…” Anders’ nose crinkled and Hawke sighed dramatically, “…thing it definitely _isn’t_ , I’d be more than okay with that,” Hawke said.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to want him, I…” he gasped sharply as Hawke added another finger. “That’s so good – honestly, watching you with him is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Then?”

“We’re going to talk about this now?” Anders laughed breathlessly. “With your fingers in my arse? That’s when you want to work this out? I don’t mind sharing, I just need to know I’m still me, not just _us_.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Hawke leaned forward and kissed Anders’ chest. “I’m not pushing – I just – I don’t want him to feel ignored when he’s right _there_. I do the same for you, you know that.”

“I know.”

Anders smiled and pulled him closer to kiss him deeply, grinding down eagerly against his hand. The strange, alien bitterness was there, but so faint – Justice was watching, but not close enough to really feel Hawke’s touch. Things were complicated – more than Hawke could have imagined – but there was never any question which of the two he was with. Justice was present, but it was Anders groaning into his mouth and hooking a wiry calf across his back.

“Fuck me,” Anders breathed against his mouth.

Hawke slid into him with a groan. The exquisitely tight heat combined with the ragged cry from Anders and the way his legs tightened around him it was too much, too good – _Maker_ , he’d been thinking about this for days. He still could barely believe Anders was real – and really here, warm and solid and unbearably beautiful. He dropped his head to rest against Anders’ shoulder, panting against the building heat as he began to thrust – slow, steady, hands tightening on Anders’ bony hips.  Anders’ cock strained against his stomach, his hands clawed at his shoulders and he could feel every moan vibrating through his chest.

He sat back – he needed to see Anders move. His body was rocked by each thrust, hips rising off the bed as he pushed up against Hawke to encourage him deeper, harder. The sounds pouring from his lips were becoming more urgent – whimpers cut with encouraging, shaky gasps of Hawke’s name. Hawke slid one hand up his body to skim over his neck, his stubbled jaw, into his hair – then froze. A single glowing blue crack had branched across Anders’ cheek, starting where Hawke’s thumb rested.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Anders dug his heels into Hawke’s lower back with a groan. “But I – he’s missed you.”

“I can tell.” Hawke ran the pad of his thumb over the blue crack as it faded back to pale skin. Anders gasped and squeezed with his thighs, pulling Hawke deeper.

“He’s sorry. He – fuck, Justice, _enough guilt._ He wants to take over – now – he won’t force me back but he’s so _lonely_ without you touching him – I can feel it. It _hurts._ ”

“Today’s yours – he knows that, he can wait.” Hawke shifted slightly and Anders hissed, arching up against him and digging his nails into Hawke’s shoulder hard enough that Hawke _knew_ there would be marks, if not blood. Hawke was eager too, but their relationship could only work if Anders and Justice could learn to respect each other – if they could learn to share instead of fighting tooth and claw for every moment of control.

“So can I,” Anders said – and that casual tone was the last thing Hawke would have expected. The thought that this could be possible – Anders letting Justice come forward with Hawke’s hands on him, his mouth on him, his cock buried in him – was almost more than he could take. His hips twitched against Anders’ ass, out of his control, and Anders gently dragged his nails down Hawke’s chest in response.

“If you’re sure – if you’re alright with this, I am,” Hawke said.

“Don’t let him wear you out,” Anders groaned, and he let a single, weak spark play across Hawke’s chest, just a ghost of the pain and pleasure his magic could inflict. “You’ve made some big promises about today, I’m going to hold you to them when you’re done.”

Hawke kissed him hard, cupping the back of his head and sliding his other hand over Anders’ waist, his ribs, then back down to grip his ass and begin to thrust into him again – more roughly this time, drawing ragged little gasps from him against Hawke’s lips. Anders slipped his tongue into Hawke’s mouth and groaned, and as he did Hawke felt the change. The air was thick and heavy – like the moment before a storm, coiled tension and building heat. Pressure crawled across his skin like ghostly fingertips, leaving the back of his neck prickling. He needed it to break – needed the relief of the shattering thunder and the raw power of the lightning.

Hawke sucked hard on Anders’ lower lip and tasted the bitter tang of something _other,_ a primal force slipping into his lover’s skin and returning the kiss with a rough nip and a firm, dominant thrust of his tongue. A groan built – not in his throat but lower, a deep rumble in the pit of Anders’ – no, Justice’s – chest that seemed to shake the air and left Hawke trembling. When had Anders relinquished control of his hands? One was curled around Hawke’s throat while the other was slipping around his back to dig sharp nails into his flesh, pulling at him in time with the powerful jerks of his hips.

The taste built, tingling snaps of power setting his teeth on edge, and even through his closed eyes Hawke saw Justice burst through – blinding blue light that scorched his gaze. He was pounding roughly into the shaking, transforming body beneath him, punctuating every thrust with a groan into the surprisingly soft lips against his. He was already close, caught up in a rushing wave of pleasure that was carrying him forward, racing towards the edge. Justice shuddered against him, clenched around him and arched, breaking the kiss with a roar of pleasure.

“Always – good to see you, Justice,” he managed to gasp out. He pushed himself up and looked down at the spirit. Justice’s face was no more readable than ever, but he was beautifully vocal, the rumbling growl replaced by sharp, needy groans.

Justice’s iron grip on his back shifted to his side and Hawke let the spirit flip him onto his back, Justice’s supernatural strength making Hawke feel weightless. One hand moved to Hawke’s chest to pin him flat, the other slid from his throat to brace against the bed beside him. Justice stared down at him with expressionless eyes and his lip curled in a snarl.

“Touch me,” he ordered, in a voice that made Hawke yearn to obey. He resisted the urge, smirking defiantly.

“You will obey, mortal,” Justice growled, but his head was tilted questioningly – Hawke had a second to refuse the silent request, and he let it pass by. They’d played this game before.

Hawke felt the hum in Justice’s fingertips for a split-second as they drifted up to close around his neck, then white-hot sparks erupted against his skin. He screamed and bucked, exquisite pain flaring against his throat and unbearable pleasure around his cock as Justice set a fast, desperate pace. His back arched until it felt as if he was being torn apart, muscles straining and breath shaking as the shocks flooded through him. Hawke reached out and wrapped his shaking hand around Justice’s rigid cock.

Each would try to outlast the other, but Hawke knew they both needed this too much to draw it out for long. His skin prickled with a rush of heat and urgent need as Justice sat up straight, bruising grip on Hawke’s jaw pulling him up with him until they were face to face with Hawke looking up into Justice’s blinding gaze. Justice raised his hips and slammed them down hard, and Hawke braced his heels against the bed and gripped Justice’s shoulder with his free hand to drive up roughly into him. Justice’s cock throbbed in his hand and he quickened his strokes, making Justice snarl and pant and sink his fingernails into Hawke’s cheek.

 “I thought of you,” Justice rasped out. “Every moment of sleep Anders allowed himself, I thought of touching you.”

Hawke was beyond speaking, beyond thinking. His legs were trembling and he gasped Justice’s name, managed one more unsteady thrust and then he was breaking, falling, pulses of aching, burning pleasure racing across his skin as Justice sank down fully onto his cock and clenched around him. Justice’s hand moved from his jaw to the back of his head, pulling him against his glowing, sweat-dampened chest as Hawke shuddered and groaned through the aftershocks.

He gave him only seconds. Justice’s grip shifted from tender to demanding – urgent – and Hawke adjusted his hand on Justice’s cock and resumed his quick, skilled strokes. Justice had Hawke at his mercy with a twist of his fingers, dark strands of hair trapped and yanked back until Hawke was displayed before him – arched, his chest heaving with each roughened breath. He felt Justice’s body tense, lean thighs clamping down around his hips, and then Justice was jerking in his grip as he spilled over Hawke’s body with a growl.

Justice released him and Hawke fell back. The sheets were deliciously cool against his flushed skin and he lay there gasping. Justice rose off his softening cock and knelt between his thighs, gently parting them with a brush of his fingertips.

“No more - not yet,” Hawke said. “Let me get my breath back at least.”

“That was not my intent,” said Justice. He leaned forward, his tousled mass of blond hair hanging around his face and shimmering with otherworldly light. He was breath-taking – he always was. He broke Hawke’s gaze to cast his appreciative stare over his broad chest and the trail of hair on his belly – and over the pooling, faintly glowing fluid streaked across Hawke’s skin. The glow had surprised Hawke the first time – another reminder that Justice was something vastly more strange than the shape he currently inhabited – but it was familiar now.

Justice met Hawke’s gaze again – held it – and lowered his head to trace his tongue over Hawke’s belly. He was – _oh fucking_ _Maker_ , Hawke couldn’t believe what he was seeing – Justice was cleaning every trace of himself from Hawke’s skin, his hot, eager tongue following glowing trails. He surged up Hawke’s body with a groan and captured him in a deep, fierce kiss. He’d come so far from the first fumbling touches – he was confident, demanding, and all Hawke could do was wrap his arms around Justice’s lithe body and hang on as he was thoroughly tasted and explored.

When he broke away Hawke was panting, half-hard again already and digging his blunt nails into Justice’s skin to try to drag him closer. The two inhabitants of the perfect body above him were so different from one another, blurred in the space between but each determined to be independent of the other at the points where they separated. One thing they seemed to always have in common was an instinctive understanding of how to drive Hawke wild. He ran his tongue over his lips, capturing the last traces of Justice’s taste.

“It is the Fade you taste on me,” Justice said, following the path of Hawke’s tongue with his fingertips. “I am bound, however far I have come, the Fade is in me – just a fragment. An echo.”

“Do you miss it?” Hawke reached up and carded his fingers through Justice’s hair. Justice ducked gently into the touch, his back arching and a low growl forming in his throat. Hawke decided not to mention how close it was to a purr – Justice was surprisingly self-conscious, one moment a terrifyingly powerful ancient being, the next awkward and flustered at the slightest hint of mockery. Hawke had struggled to learn to keep his sense of humour in check, but the affection Justice showed when he was sincere was more than worth the sacrifice.

“I did, for a time,” he said. “Now I – there are things I would miss more, were I to return. Your world is broken – it is unjust, the behaviour of mortals is so often incomprehensible I – am out of place here.” He pressed his head into Hawke’s palm with a soft sigh. “But there is Anders. There is you. There is nothing else I need, except purpose – which Anders gave me when I had none. I will owe him for the rest of my existence, I will never abandon him. Or you.”

“I love you,” Hawke said. It seemed too blunt – he blurted the words out without thought, but if anyone would appreciate the direct approach, it would be Justice. It was something he’d always struggled to say outright, preferring to deflect with a joke until cornered and forced to admit the depth of his feelings. He had a hunch that Justice wouldn’t push – so he would come to him.

Justice’s flat, glowing eyes were hard to read – but they widened at Hawke’s words.

“And I love you,” he said, his usually commanding tone surprisingly soft. “Very much.”

Hawke tugged Justice down to lie against his chest, rolling onto his side and curling around the glowing, angular body in his arms. Justice tucked his head against Hawke’s neck with a sound that was _definitely_ a purr, then sighed against Hawke’s shoulder.

“Today was to be for Anders,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to say anything just yet…”

“I will depart.” Justice laid a feather-light kiss against Hawke’s neck that made him shiver pleasantly. “Thank you for allowing my intrusion – I will try to get used to this… it is difficult to be so close to you and forbidden from…”

“I know.”

“I will see you tonight?”

“As long as Anders goes to sleep before me, yes.” Hawke twirled a strand of Justice’s hair around one finger, drawing a pleased hum from him. “And tomorrow evening I’m all yours, as long as you can tear yourselves away from the clinic at a reasonable hour.”

“Anders’ patients must come first,” Justice said. “And we are awaiting news from our contacts in the Mage Underground – if things become urgent – but I will be here if it is possible.”

“I’ll make it up to you if not,” Hawke said quickly. “We’ll _make_ time, I promise.”

“Then I will not steal more of what you have today.”

Justice tensed against Hawke’s chest for a moment, a deep shiver running down his spine and his fingers clenching against Hawke for an instant, and then the brilliant blue glow faded and he was gone, and Anders was nuzzling against Hawke’s neck and sliding his thigh up over Hawke’s hip. Hawke could have recognised the change even without the glow – Anders’ body seemed to soften, easing against him as if he were a liquid, somehow making his sharp edges conform to Hawke’s softer shape. Anders carried tension in his back and neck, he twisted and picked at his fingers when he was concentrating, but he was boneless here – able to leave the world at the bedroom door. Justice could not set his burdens aside, and it showed.

Anders’ palm flared with heat against his side, then slid lower, dipping between their bodies. He grinned against Hawke’s neck and kissed his way up to his ear, and Hawke gasped as the warmth enveloped his cock and he felt a rejuvenating rush of creation magic flood through him leaving him suddenly, achingly hard.

“My turn,” Anders murmured, and Hawke whole-heartedly agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

When Hawke arrived at the clinic, it was in chaos. He hadn’t expected anything less and waded in to help, helping weed out the patients who could be sent away with a herbal remedy from those that needed urgent treatment. Anders kept a close eye on him – Hawke couldn’t complain, he knew he was still learning – but he was starting to adapt to the hectic routine. Eventually the clinic emptied – it was the eye of the storm, Hawke was sure hundreds more patients would appear at any moment, but a chance to catch his breath was very welcome.

“Thanks, love,” Anders said, stopping beside him to adjust his grip on an over spilling box of potions. “I’m missing an assistant today – I was worried I’d have to start turning people away.”

“Anything to worry about?”

“Probably not.” Anders set the box down and began rummaging through it.  “She wouldn’t shut up about a secret admirer last time she was in – whoever it is obviously moved past the anonymous flowers stage and distracted her.”

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Hawke grinned and slipped an arm around Anders’ waist. Anders laughed and unpeeled Hawke’s hand with a wistful sigh.

“Unfortunately, healers are a little harder to replace.” He turned, kissed Hawke’s cheek, and returned to his potions. “Barring any emergencies I’ll be closing up at dusk, do you have time to stay? I hate to ask…”

“Don’t do that, you know I’m happy to help when I can.” Hawke thought for a second – he had plans for drinks with Isabela, her idea, no doubt inspired by a _look_ he’d exchanged with Justice at the end of a fight that had sent her into squealed demands for gossip. On the other hand, Anders’ long fingers were clumsy with exhaustion, Hawke could see the shake in his hands as he fumbled through the clinking glass bottles. He wasn’t about to leave him alone like this.

“I’ll stay,” he said. “Got some plans to cancel - is there anyone around here who’d run a note up to Lowtown?”

“For more coin than is reasonable, no doubt,” said Anders. “Don’t flash around any gold you’re not willing to lose – you got cleaned out last time you were down here.”

“I don’t mind. I could do more – I should. Maker knows the Chantry isn’t helping these people.”

“You do plenty. You paid for most of the potions and salves you handed out today – I don’t know how I’d run the place without you.” Anders found what he was looking for and straightened up, rolling the blue glass bottle in the palm of his hand and stretching his back until it cracked.

“What’s that for?” Hawke thought he recognised everything Anders kept in stock, but he’d never seen a bottle that colour and shape. Anders pulled out the stopper revealing a silvery blue liquid, reflective and opaque. “Is that?”

“Lyrium,” Anders confirmed.  “One of my mage underground contacts has a black market source - I don’t use it much, but I’m going to need it if I don’t want to close early.”

“I didn’t know you used it at all.” Hawke tried to keep the worry out of his voice but Anders knew him too well.

“It’s safe – more or less, anyway. Mages are more resistant to addiction, and I’m careful. If I use it once I won’t touch it again for a week. Really, I promise – I’d close the clinic first. I usually don’t take more than one dose in a day either but…” he trailed off and shrugged, then raised the bottle to his lips and took a swallow.

“But?”

“Exceptions when the situation calls for it.” He grinned. “One upside to a Circle education – I _know_ lyrium, and my limits. Please, trust me.”

“I do, I do.” Hawke’s eyes were drawn to a faint smear of metallic liquid on Anders’ lip and reached out to swipe it away with his fingertip. “Does it taste as toxic as it is?”

“Mm, in the best way.” Anders lunged forward to capture Hawke’s finger in his mouth, mischief in his eyes as he sucked the droplets away. “I don’t know if you’d like it – mages tend to be drawn to the stuff, something to do with our connection to the Fade. Here.”

He dipped his own finger into the bottle and offered it to Hawke – even the thin film of liquid was dense enough to hide the freckles on his skin, and Hawke realised he could feel a faint hum coming from it as Anders’ finger approached his lips.

Hawke drew the digit into his mouth, running his tongue over warm skin and then the taste hit him, intense, bitter, scalding. His eyes fluttered closed and he groaned softly, dragging his teeth over Anders’ fingertip as he released it.

“You _knew,_ ” he gasped.

“After Justice and I merged, I could taste something awfully close to lyrium at the back of my throat for weeks. Not quite the same, but all that… Fade-related weirdness is connected,” Anders said with a smirk. “I had a hunch you’d recognise it.”

“You really like this?” He asked. “Not the lyrium, I mean – me and Justice.”

“Always been a bit of a voyeur,” Anders said with a wink, but his tone wasn’t quite as light as he tried to pretend.

“Hey…” Hawke caught Anders’ arm as he tried to turn away. “You can tell me if you’re not happy.”

“You don’t need to worry, love. I’m not jealous – honestly it makes things simpler, it’s nice that he’s stopped screeching like a shocked Chantry sister if I picture you naked.”

“But?”

“I still worry. You’ve never talked to him about what happened – after Alrik, with – and neither have I. She just called him a demon – honestly, on bad days I’ve done that _myself –_ and she was little more than a child and if you hadn’t been there…”

“But I was, and he listened. Do you really think he’d hurt me, Anders?”

“No – there’s no part of me that’s capable of that, not even him. I think he’ll bring down blood and chaos all around us both and you’ll be in too deep to back away.” He sighed and pushed a few escaped strands of hair out of his eyes. “It’s stupid but I’d convinced myself that you weren’t really… stuck with me. With us. I thought that if I got too caught up with our cause, if Justice took over too much of my life, you’d have the sense to walk away. But if you love him – the messy, complicated, dangerous part of me – if you tie yourself to _us_ not _me_ then I have to accept that’s not going to happen.”

“Anders, love, it never would have.” He gently encouraged Anders to sit on the rickety wooden table and moved around to stand in front of him, leaning in close and running his fingers through the loose layers of Anders’ hair.

“I know,” Anders laughed shakily and leaned against Hawke’s chest. “You could end it with Justice right now and it wouldn’t stop me worrying, it’s just brought it home. You really _mean_ this – you really _want_ this. Me. Us.”

“Always.”

Anders took a deep breath and nodded against Hawke’s chest. He seemed relieved, but Hawke could feel the tension in his shoulders.

“Anything else?”

“That’s the worst of it.” Anders laughed and sat back. “Honestly, the rest is just – sorting things out, getting my head around it.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“I think I’m a little envious,” he admitted in a rush. He bit his lip – and Hawke decided that was absolutely _not_ fair with the clinic door standing open, he really was unreasonably attractive – and a faint flush coloured his cheeks.

“There’s nothing I do with Justice I’m not willing to do with you – you know that, right?” Hawke tried to imagine Anders pinning him down and struggled not to laugh at the mental image – without Justice’s added strength, they’d probably have to do things a little differently.

“I’m… not envious of _him_.”

“Oh.” Hawke realised his mouth had dropped open and was showing no sign of closing on its own, and quickly arranged his face. “That’s – I mean he’s very – but he’s also _you_ and I suppose that isn’t so different from – but – what?”

“The shocked stammering is very helpful,” Anders said. His brows furrowed, scrunching the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting it internally as well, really, it’s wonderful.”

“He didn’t know?”

“I thought he’d have guessed, but apparently not. I’ve only ever – uh – actively _considered_ things when he’s in control and somewhat distracted.” Anders shook his head. “It’s very weird, probably not healthy… I mean, the last time I saw Justice anywhere other than a mirror he was – not his best, bits were starting to fall off. I don’t know when I stopped picturing him that way and started seeing him as – anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s not exactly something that can ever happen, so probably best all three of us forget about it. The sooner the better.”

“Are you sure?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I could have him call me Anders – maybe I’ll borrow your coat…”

“Don’t you dare,” Anders choked, stifling a laugh. It was good to see him this way – the earlier serious conversation forgotten, or at least set aside for now.

Patients began to trickle back into the clinic, and before long the trickle had become a flood. Hawke kept an eye on Anders as they worked – it hurt to think of it, but if Anders was unhappy he would end things with Justice. They’d agreed from the start, Anders had to be protected, he deserved happiness. It seemed, however, he had found it – what they had was strange, complex and not without problems, but it was something solid and real and full of love. Wherever it led, they could handle it.


	3. Chapter 3

An apostate in the streets of Hightown was enough of a risk – Hawke would not be reduced to sneaking Anders in and out through the tunnels, he would not cower in the shadows. He had hidden Bethany, and she had still been taken. He walked home with Anders at his side, his eyes daring anyone to question. But there were levels of defiance the Templars would not – could not – ignore. Until they crossed the threshold, Justice remained hidden. Hawke would fight for Anders – but the bitter truth was that if he fought for Justice, he would be doomed to lose.

An _abomination_ in Hightown is how they’d tell the story – a nobleman with a demon lover, blood magic was involved, no doubt, in perverse rituals for the wealthy and spoiled to speculate on for years to come. There were acceptable indiscretions, laws that applied to the poor that the rich could easily ignore – and then there was this. He unlocked the door standing beside a human – too thin, too tired, hair streaked with the dust of Darktown and fingers stained with elfroot – but it was something else, something more, that pushed him against it the moment they were inside, Fade-tinged kisses burning his lips and glowing fingers interlacing with his own.

“Upstairs,” Justice growled against his lips. It was urgent, demanding, but there was no force in his touch as he tugged at Hawke’s hand to lead him, and no roughness when they reached the bedroom and he pulled Hawke close to him again, running his hands up under his shirt with a contented hum before pulling it off over his head eagerly.

“Anders mentioned you had – plans?” Hawke’s breath hitched as Justice’s fingers trailed over his chest and found a nipple, tracing firm circles until it hardened under his touch.

“There is something I would try with you, with your consent.”

Justice let his bag slip from his shoulder but caught the strap to lower it carefully to the floor – Hawke heard the faint sound of glass on glass and followed it curiously with his eyes. Justice was in no rush to reveal his secret, he walked Hawke back until his back was pressed against one of the posts of the four-poster bed, and stifled Hawke’s questions with a kiss. There was hesitancy in his touch, the hand he slipped into Hawke’s hair did not pull or twist or spark, the kiss was all soft, teasing lips and slow, hot flicks of his tongue. No pain, no control – held back by a question he could not quite ask.

Hawke slipped his hands between their bodies and began fumbling at the buckles holding Justice’s coat in place. He finally parted the thick fabric, slid his hands beneath and was met with nothing but bare skin. The thought of Justice and Anders planning this – Anders dressing in the morning knowing how Justice wanted to present their body to Hawke at night – made him groan against Justice’s lips and pull him closer to him, kiss him harder and rock demandingly against his thigh.

“Good surprise,” he said as Justice finally drew back to let him breathe. “I’m half surprised you’re not completely naked under there.”

“Anders suggested it, but I believed trousers to be necessary,” said Justice. “We wore nothing beneath.”

Hawke grinned and dropped his hands to Justice’s ass, squeezing hard through the thin fabric and leaning in to capture Justice’s earlobe between his teeth. Justice hissed and his fingers tensed for a moment against Hawke’s scalp, slender body arching against him and breath turning to harsh pants as Hawke sucked and nipped at his neck.

“Tell me what you want to do with me,” Hawke murmured.

“If you are willing I – if you would trust me…”

“I always trust you, love.”

“Would you allow me to tie your hands?” Justice hesitated, scrutinising Hawke’s face. “I had thought – above your head, high on the bed post. You would be stretched upright – it might not be comfortable.”

“I don’t want to be _comfortable,_ ” Hawke said. He withdrew his hands from Justice’s body – and oh, he’d miss that, the smooth, warm skin under his palms and the firm curve of his ass to sink his fingers into – but this could be even better. He crossed his wrists above his head, smirking at the slight widening of Justice’s eyes. “What’d be exciting about that?”

“You will likely be bruised.” Justice gestured to the carved shape of the bedpost.

“I should hope so.”

“I am not…” Justice touched Hawke’s face tenderly, the gentle hum of his skin made Hawke’s lips tingle and sent a delicious prickling rush down his spine. “I have been rough with you. You have – we have – enjoyed it. That is not all I am. That is not all I want for us.”

“So you’re going to tie me up to show your softer side?” Justice visibly flinched and Hawke cringed – no teasing, not with him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Just me being an ass, love. However you want this – I want _you._ ”

Justice was easily wounded, but recovered fast. He pressed Hawke back against the bedpost – and he was right, those ornate ridges and curves were going to leave a beautiful selection of bruises down his back if they weren’t careful – and wrapped his fingers around Hawke’s wrists. Hawke gasped as he was effortlessly hauled upwards, Justice’s slight height advantage allowing him to yank Hawke up until he was standing on the balls of his feet with his body stretched, spine fully extended and arms pulled taut. Justice pushed his thigh between Hawke’s legs to separate them, nudging them apart with a low growl before claiming his lips in another deep, smouldering kiss. Hawke let the rush of sensation overwhelm him, only vaguely aware of Justice’s free hand rummaging in one of the pouches on his belt until it skimmed up his arm and he felt the cool softness of rope wrapping around his wrists.

There was a brief moment of panic Hawke hadn’t expected – the unyielding wood grinding against his wrists, the strain in his shoulders, Justice’s distinctly inhuman taste flooding the kiss, all combining with Anders’ words in the clinic to remind him that for all his love and trust, this was not a human pressed up against him. There was nothing predictable – nothing entirely safe about this. Justice would always be as much a force of nature as a man, if he could even be considered a man at all. Then he was stepping back, leaving Hawke bereft of the warm, firm weight of him against his chest. His fingertips trailed down Hawke’s arms and clutched briefly at nothing as he let them drop, and he studied Hawke’s face with such devotion and longing all doubts were burned away by his intense, blinding gaze.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to leave me here like this?” The joke fell a little flat, Hawke’s voice cracking with raw desire as Justice stepped away.

“I will not.” Justice opened his bag and – Hawke’s breath caught in his throat and his cock throbbed – he removed a blue glass bottle that gleamed in the firelight. “I will not leave you unsatisfied, but I will take my time tonight.”

Justice closed the gap between them fast, Hawke had often thought he moved like lightning but it was smoother, a fluid motion of gleaming blue. He moved like spilled lyrium, deadly, beautiful and intoxicating. _And addictive,_ Hawke thought as Justice’s body pressed against his again and a cold glass bottle was rolled across his bare chest. Justice flicked the stopper from the bottle one handed.

“Are you…” Hawke broke off with a groan as Justice pressed himself closer. Hawke hadn’t realised quite how desperately, painfully hard he was until he felt Justice’s cock pressed against his own, separated by only a few layers of fabric. “Is Anders safe if you take that?”

“I would not harm him for this,” said Justice. “I would _never._ ”

 Justice brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it back, the metallic liquid reflecting the brilliant glare from his cracked skin in the instant when it hung between the glass and his lips. He didn’t swallow, but lunged forward, bringing his lips to the hollow between Hawke’s collar bones and pressing a kiss to the soft, sensitive skin.

His lips parted, and Hawke threw back his head with a moan. Hot, damp skin gave way to an ice-cold rush as the liquid lyrium drew sharp fingers down his chest. It followed the contours of his muscles, split into tiny rivulets where it caught in his chest hair, pooled briefly in his naval before hitting the waistband his trousers and trickling lower. _Fuck,_ lower – Hawke tensed in anticipation but the trails stopped short of his cock, leaving him breathing hard and arching against Justice.

“Do you feel it?” Justice breathed against him. He sounded entranced, utterly captivated as he trailed his fingers through the liquid metal, tracing patterns across Hawke’s chest. “The song, can you feel it, Garrett?”

“I…” Hawke panted sharply and twitched forward as Justice’s fingers dipped lower, skimming his belly and tugging at the buttons of his trousers. “I don’t know.”

“No mortal can hear it,” Justice murmured, and Hawke felt a tug and the whisper of fabric against his thighs and he was bared to Justice’s gaze. “If you could hear – I _ache_ for that sound, you cannot imagine. But when Anders drinks it there is a whisper in our mind, a humming in our lips and for a moment – just a moment – he can feel that same ache. Does it sing to your skin?”

Justice finally looked up to meet Hawke’s eyes, thin trickles of lyrium streaked from his relaxed lower lip, over his chin and descending down the column of his throat. His tongue darted out to chase the drops from his lips and Hawke almost whimpered at the sight. The streaks of lyrium on his torso no longer just felt cold – they felt sub-zero, snapping at his nerves and searing his flesh. Beneath it all, a thrumming depth beneath all other sensation, he could feel a hum that was not a hum – a whisper his ears denied, a ghost of _something_ not intended for him. He nodded, speechless.

“The processed form is weak,” Justice said, toying with the bottle. “In its purest state I could not let it touch you – but the song…” he broke off, then took a deep swallow with a shudder. He tipped the bottle up, taking the last of the lyrium into his mouth and holding it. Justice dropped to his knees and Hawke had just a moment – a split second of exhilarating, terrifying realisation when he _could_ have refused but wouldn’t, couldn’t bear to – and then Justice took his cock in his mouth.

Hawke screamed, straining against the ropes and arching until he thought his spine would snap. His struggles raised him onto his toes, thighs shuddering with the strain as he bucked and writhed. Justice’s hot, skilled tongue lapped at his flesh, his lips wrapped tightly around Hawke’s shaft, but it was the agonizingly sweet burn of lyrium that had sent a bolt of pure pleasure racing through every nerve. It should have hurt – it was so intense it almost did – that icy touch and unnatural deep hum should have been too much but it wasn’t. It hung right on the edge of agony, a distilled note of pleasure that begged to peak and shatter but never did. He was gasping, whimpers of Justice’s name and desperate, broken pleas for more pouring from his lips as he let the duelling sensations push him beyond what he would have ever thought he could take.

Just as he thought he couldn’t bear any more, Justice let his cock slip from his mouth and stood. Lyrium had seeped from the corners of his mouth and the trickles on his throat had become a flood, and his bare chest was crossed with smudged blue streaks that reflected his own light until it seemed that every inch of his skin glowed. He began to shrug out of his coat but Hawke shook his head, struggling for breath until he could speak.

“Leave it on,” he managed to rasp out.

Justice nodded. He dipped his fingers in the thick streams of lyrium on Hawke’s chest and traced them up his neck, awakening intense bursts of sensation and drawing weak, breathy moans from his lips. He’d never been so utterly stripped bare by sensation, raw and needy and shaken. Justice alternated between his fingers and his tongue, moaning against Hawke’s skin as he sucked hard enough to bruise, swallowing excess lyrium hungrily before pulling back to continue his work. He was transforming Hawke’s body, remaking it in his image with jagged blue lines snaking across his skin. Justice finally raised his fingers to Hawke’s face and traced the shape of a single descending crack from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“If you and I were more alike, I could show you so much more.” Justice followed the lines that streaked Hawke’s body with his fingertip, hand mirroring the rise and fall of Hawke’s heaving chest. “The song of raw lyrium is beyond your comprehension, beyond words. It scalds every inch of my essence, it was – my first desire. For so long, my only desire. It ached and it stung and it – it _burned.”_ He shuddered and dropped his hand to Hawke’s hip. “You have eclipsed even this.”

“You’re…” Hawke shuddered as another wave of sensation crashed over him. The longer it stayed on his skin, the deeper the vibrations of the lyrium seemed to get, as if the web of liquid was becoming solid, tightening around him. “You’re incredible, Justice, love, don’t ask for – oh, Maker _yes –_ more than that, not now I can’t – can’t think, can’t speak, please I need…” Justice’s lyrium-drenched fingers were at his throat, then his lips, and he captured them with a groan.

He sucked hard, greedily claiming every shimmering drop as he let the taste flood his senses, shattering what remained of his coherence. He dragged his teeth across the joints of Justice’s fingers, nipped at the pads, and arched helplessly forward chasing any touch, any friction at all. Justice stood just out of reach, his own encouraging purr mingling with Hawke’s eager, hungry sounds.

“Will you consent to magic?” Justice asked, and it was all Hawke could do to nod. He felt Justice’s free hand settle in the centre of his chest and then the fingers were withdrawn from his mouth.

Hawke thought he knew what to expect – a white-hot burst of pain beneath Justice’s palm, followed by racing waves of prickling heat across his body as the burst dissipated. But when the sparks hit the lyrium they didn’t dance, they _screamed_ across his skin. Scalding pain and pleasure mingled and raced along the lyrium lines, flaring against his flesh at every point the shimmering blue metal was connected from his face to the lowest point on his stomach. Ice cold streams became boiling, throbbing cracks – he felt as if he must be glowing, Justice’s mirror as the lyrium sparked and hissed against his flesh.

 He was shaking as the pain faded, his knees weak, fully supported by the harsh bite of the rope against his wrists. There were tears on his cheeks and blurring his vision and he was breathing hard, lungs aching as he gasped incoherent pleas. Justice was close, skin to skin, one hand running through his hair and the other gently stroking soothing circles on his thigh. He rumbled low in his chest, pressing his lips to Hawke’s cheek.

“Did I push you too far?” he asked.

“Nnn…” Hawke shook his head, and Justice seemed to understand. His hand disappeared from Hawke’s thigh for a moment, and when it returned his fingers were wet and slick, skimming up his inner thigh.

“I…” Hawke shuddered and dropped his face against Justice’s shoulder with a weak sob. “No lyrium – not there, no more – I…”

“It is only oil,” Justice said. “If you wish to stop, we can – but your body is not satisfied.”

“I want…” Hawke shuddered and rocked his hips forward. It was hard to believe he hadn’t come – he wasn’t sure he _could_ after such intense pleasure, but his cock still ached to be touched, and the thought of Justice’s grasping hands smearing lyrium across his skin as he fucked him roughly sent a shock of raw need burning through him.

“Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes.” Hawke’s voice became a broken moan as Justice nudged his legs further apart, then slid his fingers into him.

He was too gentle, too slow – Hawke was reduced to begging, broken half-words and stuttering groans as he tried to grind down against Justice’s hands, but the ropes held him steady and all he could do was spread his legs and let Justice tease and torture him. Those long, elegant fingers could be so rough, so efficient when Justice chose, but tonight he drew it out with steady, painfully slow thrusts and the occasional tantalising brush against the spot that made Hawke shudder and cry out and beg to be fucked _now_.

Finally Justice withdrew his fingers to shove his own trousers down roughly around his hips and then coax Hawke’s thighs up to wrap around his waist. Hawke prepared for the flare of pain in his wrists as he lifted his feet from the ground but Justice’s hands clenched on his ass and lifted him, finally relieving the pressure and taking his weight effortlessly. One hand stayed in place supporting his ass, the other slid around his back to protect his spine from the bedpost and grip his shoulder. He was helpless, weightless, completely in Justice’s hands and spread out before him. Justice kissed and licked his way up his neck, growling as he lapped up the thick trails of lyrium, Then he pressed his lips to Hawke’s, coaxed his mouth open and kissed him deeply as he slid into him.

Justice’s growl against his lips deepened, roughened, and his fingertips dug into Hawke’s skin but he kept control, setting a slow pace that left Hawke aching for more, thick, muscled thighs trembling where they clenched around his waist. Justice rocked into him gently, adjusting his grip to twist Hawke’s position until he found the right angle to hit that sensitive spot within him over and over. He was gentle but not teasing – there was purpose in every thrust, sending sparks dancing across Hawke’s vision and pulses of heat pooling deep inside him. He was relentless, and all Hawke could do was melt against him and groan into the warm, lyrium-soaked mouth on his.

Justice broke away from Hawke’s lips to let his head fall against his shoulder, loose blond hair tumbling around his face as he gasped with every slow roll of his hips. They were both rushing towards the edge, Hawke’s body shaking as pleasure built beyond what he could stand and Justice’s thrusts becoming faster, harder, holding back but rapidly losing control. The harsh slap of skin on skin combined with Justice’s rumbling growls and Hawke’s shaky moans, but all were close to drowned out by the pounding race of his pulse and the dizzying wave of need fogging his mind. Justice reached for Hawke’s cock but he shook his head – he didn’t need it, there was no time, the building heat became molten pleasure and it shattered him, burning through his veins as his heart thundered and he collapsed against Justice’s shoulder with a final shout of his name.

Hawke gasped, inhaling the sharp scent of sweat mixed with the dizzying haze of lyrium on Justice’s skin, face pillowed by soft feathers. He buried his face in the thick plumage, almost sobbing with relief as Justice’s unsteady thrusts sent aftershocks racing through his overstimulated body. Justice’s arms wrapped around his back, hands clenched against him, and with a few more sharp thrusts he was _there,_ broken fragments of words lost in Hawke’s hair as he held him tightly and fell apart, shuddering against him.

Justice slowly lowered Hawke’s feet to the ground. He whimpered as his wrists took his weight again, they were horribly tender, chafing against the ropes and bruised from the wood. His skin stung beneath the smeared lyrium and his knees were too weak to support his weight. Justice kept an arm around his waist to hold him steady and pulled a small knife from a sheath on his belt.

“You did well,” he said, deep voice vibrating against Hawke’s cheek, He trailed soft kisses along his cheekbone and reached up to cut the rope that held Hawke upright, catching his full weight easily in one arm to help him to the bed.

“And you – amazing,” Hawke managed with a weak chuckle, falling back against the sheets. His legs trailed off the side of the bed – he didn’t care, the last thing he was going to do was try to move. He watched the firelight play over the canopy above him and listened to Justice’s soft, padding footsteps crossing the room. He returned moments later with water – it was warm, whether from the fire or magic Hawke didn’t know and didn’t care to ask. He let Justice wipe the lyrium from his chest and lower, shivering as the water beaded and cooled on his skin. Even now he couldn’t help thrusting into Justice’s touch as his hands skimmed over his cock – and Justice _laughed,_ a quiet, throaty sound that cut off too suddenly. _Maker,_ Hawke hadn’t known he could do that – and it seemed Justice hadn’t either.

“You are exhausted,” Justice said, setting the water aside. “No more.”

“I agree.”

“I will have to move you to cover you with the sheets.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hawke said, and he caught Justice’s arm to pull him down on top of him. “You’re like a furnace, and there’s always the coat…”

“Anders will be displeased if the coat is damaged.” Justice adjusted his position but stayed sprawled across Hawke’s chest, his fingers combing through the damp chest hair. “He retains his vanity, despite my best efforts.”

“Let him,” Hawke chided. “He’s keeping you both gorgeous.”

“I fail to see…”

“Hush.” Hawke tugged him down for another kiss – slow and lazy, a soft brush of lips with no sense of urgency but that neither of them were quite willing to break away from. Justice did eventually, and Hawke was too worn out to drag him back down.

Justice traced his fingers over Hawke’s face, down his neck, trailing over his shoulder onto his chest. His eyebrows creased and Hawke followed his gaze.

Hawke’s body was traced in thin red lines – slightly raised marks that trailed from between his collarbones down, branching out across his chest, down as far as he could see to where Justice’s body lay across his and blocked his view.

“I did not expect – I have injured you,” Justice said. “I will depart – I will allow Anders to heal these burns.”

“Don’t.” Hawke caught Justice’s fingers and squeezed them firmly. “I – let me wear them ‘til they fade.”

“They will be painful – and itch as they heal.”

“I don’t care.” Hawke kissed his fingers and gently encouraged Justice up his body until he could bury his face in the cloud of blond hair. “I can’t be with you in the way I’d like,” he said softly. “I can’t… drink with you in the Hanged Man, or walk through the Lowtown Market holding your hand. Anders gets all that – but you can have this. Your mark on me. I’ll carry it like how you carry the fade. Like an echo.”


End file.
